Sever
by President Luthor
Summary: Clark, Lex and Bruce are on the verge of destiny. The choices they are about to make cannot be undone. The race to reveal secrets and lies approaches the final lap: the time for compromise is over. The war between Wayne and Luthor begins now.
1. Part 1

SUMMARY: The marriage of Lana and Lex is over, as Lex's bond with Bruce strengthens. Lana is quietly starting up her Isis Foundation. While Bruce Wayne frolics into the night with starlets and supermodels at decadent parties in the tony salons and drawing rooms of Gotham's elite, Clark and friends must overcome a brewing conspiracy during the months after Alfred's death: a death that Chloe refuses to accept as fact. It remains to be seen if there are ulterior motives behind the butler's demise. These stories follow the events of my previous short story: "Nightshade".

The relentless mob wars in Gotham have a devastating impact on someone close to Bruce; will Lex's alliance with Gotham kingpin Tony Zucco provoke Zucco's underworld enemies? Bruce is on the verge of his destiny in the shadows, while Lex is establishing his own ruthless legacy. Old friends and foes return, as the fallout of their rivalry ripples around the world.

_Events begin shortly after the Season 7 premiere._

* * *

_Prologue: "A Grand Entrance"_

Clark nervously adjusted the bow tie of his tuxedo. The black-tie affair at the Gotham City Museum of Antiquities had attracted the Gotham elite, including several city councillors, celebrity trial lawyer Harvey Dent and a handful of New England senators. The priceless artifacts and paintings throughout the Wayne Foundation Great Hall – spanning at least 2,500 years of human history – added to the regal atmosphere. Some of Bruce's friends and political allies did not accept Lex Luthor into their exclusive circles, but LuthorCorp.'s wealth and influence forced them to at least acknowledge and respect his friendship with Bruce.

Chloe, who seemed rather under-dressed for the event in a charcoal grey blazer, cream blouse and skirt, studied the illustrious crowd. She pointed at the rail-thin man at the bar who was draining his glass of rye while chatting up the buxom bartender. "See that man, Clark? That's Councillor Hamilton Hill, Gotham City's budget chief. Some say he's going to resign to make a run for the mayor's office next year. You can just feel the money and influence hanging over this room –"

"— like smog?" Clark quipped. "I've been to dozens of Wayne Foundation galas over the years, and every time I feel like I don't belong. These people make more money in a month than my family could make in a year working on the farm. It's not my world, it never has been." He nervously glanced at his watch. Bruce said he would arrive at the charity fundraising gala by 7 p.m. It was now ten minutes to eight. The Wayne Foundation planned to raise $10 million tonight for the Mayor's Charity Fund. He fidgeted with the keys in his pockets again.

"Go out and mingle, Clark," Chloe said, ignoring his cynicism. "I'm here on the Planet's payroll to cover Wayne Enterprises' proposed bullet train between Gotham City and Metropolis, but you have the hottest invite this side of Gotham Harbour! Think of it as your chance to mix it up with New England's high society. Dare to dream! One of them could be your next boss." Before Clark could protest, Chloe left him to interview a city staffer.

He reluctantly approached the bar. "One cola, please," Clark said. "I mean, a cola on the rocks. Straight up." The fair-haired bartender heard him, but she was busy fending off the lecherous advances of Councillor Hill. Clark presumed that the councillor was in his early-to-mid forties.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hill," the bartender said. "but I have a customer in line. One cola, you said. Would that be on the rocks, Mr. -?"

"Kent," Clark said. The last name caught Hamilton's attention. The councillor was skinny and dyed his hair dark brown to hide the speckles of grey. Clark winced at the strong scent of rye from the councillor's breath.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Kansas senate candidate Jonathan Kent?" Hamilton said, as he motioned for a refill.

"Yes, I'm his son," Clark said curtly. He didn't know this councillor, but he concluded that he didn't like him. He wanted to end the discussion quickly.

"It's too bad about what happened to him, on his victory night no less," Hamilton said, "but I hear your mother is making quite the impression on Capitol Hill with the Ways and Means Committee. Her star is rising on the Potomac, no doubt." He tucked his hand in his blazer, pulled out a business card and handed it to Clark. "Give this to your mother. Who knows, you may have just met the next mayor of Gotham City." He polished off his last drink and teetered uneasily towards the men's restroom.

Clark glanced at the card and shoved it into a pocket. He had been accustomed to politicians and lobbyists who wanted to curry favour with U.S. Senator Martha Kent (and his mother had a box full of cards in her Georgetown condo to prove it). He studied an ancient Mayan spear on the wood-panelled wall and lost himself in his own thoughts. Lana's divorce with Lex was finalized and she now lived at the farm. He should be happy, but he felt that there was still a void between them. He assumed that Lana still needed time to recover from her bitter divorce with Lex and adjust to her new circumstances. With the exception of the Daily Planet, most of Metropolis' chattering class sided with Lex Luthor. The gossip hacks portrayed Lana as a manipulative gold-digger. Lana preferred to remain in Smallville because the paparazzi always hounded her in Metropolis.

"Clark?" a voice asked. Clark turned around and saw Lex, dressed in a designer tuxedo with silver bowtie and matching silver cufflinks.

Clark nodded politely, even though he loathed the thought of making small talk with his former friend. "This gala is for a good cause, Lex," Clark declared. "Let's try to be civil tonight for Bruce's sake. But don't expect me to enjoy being in the same room with you."

Lex crunched on a caviar-laden wafer in his left hand. He let Clark wait – uncomfortably – for him to finish his snack. "I see you've been taking classes in wit from Chloe Sullivan, Clark. If that wasn't a backhanded attempt at civil discourse, I don't know what is! You've known Bruce for what, six years? You forget that I've known Bruce Wayne much longer than you have. I stood by him when the schoolyard kids taunted him about the salacious tales printed in my father's tabloids. I'm here to help Bruce in any way possible. So, yes, Clark, we can be civil today. For the sake of Bruce … and Alfred – or have you forgotten that Bruce's only father figure died mysteriously in Eastern Europe this summer? Somehow, I suspect you know more about the events surrounding his demise than I do. Alfred was an honourable and caring man. He was also my friend, however tense our relationship had become lately. Don't _ever_ presume to doubt that."

Lex thought of the times when Alfred would invite Lex to attend baseball games at Gotham Stadium, when Lionel couldn't spare the time to visit him at the boarding school on Thanksgiving. He missed Alfred, but he wouldn't give Clark the satisfaction of seeing him upset. He buried the thought and stormed away.

"Lex, I didn't mean to -" Clark said, but Lex had already disappeared among the tuxedos and gowns of the crowd. A middle-aged couple – the silver-haired woman draped in furs, the man in an exquisite tuxedo – glared disapprovingly at Lex.

"If you ask me," the woman snorted, "the Wayne brand hasn't been the same since Thomas and Martha were killed. Bruce just isn't leadership material. It's Lucius Fox who's keeping the family firm afloat! And now he's hanging out with that Metropolis princeling, Lex. Lionel was born poor. He's one of _them._" Her last word dripped with contempt.

"That's what happens when you give riff-raff money and privilege," her husband replied. "They squander it. Bruce and Lex: they're two peas in a pod."

"Bruce is nothing like Lex," Clark insisted. The couple smirked smugly. Clark was a commoner in their eyes and they wilfully ignored his presence.

The crowd let out a gasp and fell silent, as someone flung open the double brass-lined doors of the Great Hall. Lex strolled towards the centre aisle and extended his hand to the guest of honour and his two statuesque female companions.

"Bruce, the party's already started," Lex said quietly. Bruce stumbled uneasily on the waxed floors, but one of his companions – the blonde – held his arm up.

"Lex, please allow me to introduce Ashley … Ashley –" Bruce said, stuttering. Lex could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I'm Miss United States, Brucie!" the blue-eyed blonde giggled. "I'm the Queen of America!" Her sequined baby blue gown was slit up to her waist, revealing a scandalous amount of leg. She swayed awkwardly in her stiletto heels and raised a champagne glass to Lex. Lex returned the toast and smiled nervously at the crowd.

Chloe returned to Clark's side. "Wow," she said. "It looks like Bruce started the party ahead of everyone else! And wasn't his blonde snuggle-bunny dethroned last week for her less-than-regal photos on the Internet?"

"I am Natalya," the brunette declared to Lex, "I believe we are already acquainted." She wrinkled her nose in disapproval at the deposed beauty queen on Bruce's left arm. Her black gown was more tasteful, despite a plunging neckline that demanded attention.

"How could I forget?" Lex grinned politely, unsure what to make of Bruce's inebriated condition. "We met in Prague, did we not? You were the exhibit curator for Napoleonic artefacts at the National Museum." Natalya's eyes lit up, and Lex entertained the notion that he might not spend a lonely night in Gotham City after all.

"Maybe Bruce shouldn't make a speech in his, umm, condition," Clark whispered in Lex's ear.

"The Wayne Foundation means to raise millions for the mayor's charities," Lex replied. "It would be impolite for the host to skip out on his own party. It would reflect poorly on his family's name, but I guess you wouldn't understand, since you of all people are quick to judge and slow to forgive when others falter. Excuse us." Lex held Bruce's other arm and steered him away from the ravenous gossip columnists and photographers who had begun to circle Gotham's playboy billionaire. They quickly assembled behind a screen of museum security personnel and approached the hall's podium.

"He's been like this since Alfred was killed," Clark said to Chloe. He couldn't believe that Wayne Manor's butler had died in a horrible plane crash. The newspapers had claimed that it was an accident. _Lex is right_, he thought, _I do know more about the events surrounding Alfred's death than I've led him to believe_.

Chloe thought of her friend, the butler and freelance spy who had raised Bruce since childhood. Alfred would never say it, but he did care for him like a son. _And he made the ultimate sacrifice for him_, Chloe frowned. She felt adrift since she heard about the apparent demise of Alfred's crack company of paratroopers in Belarus. The Checkmate conspiracy was an emerging threat, and its followers had surely targeted Alfred's team. Four soldiers had been listed as casualties, but the NATO report alleged that their remains were beyond recognition. _He can't be dead_, Chloe believed, _because his body was never identified_. The feedback from the podium's microphone turned her attention back to the gala.

"Bruce Wayne would like you all to know how grateful he is for giving your time and energy to this worthwhile cause," Lex Luthor ad-libbed, while Natalya and Ashley struggled to keep Bruce on his feet. The audience applauded, but their focus was on the Gotham playboy and his attractive entourage. "I'm certain that the poor and disenfranchised of Gotham City will be blessed by your generosity. And now, Bruce has a few words before we return to the festivities."

Bruce held onto the sides of the podium, cleared his throat and grinned. "On behalf of Luthor Manor – I mean, Wayne Manor …" He turned to Lex. "I'm a Wayne, aren't I?" He clumsily patted Lex on his head and held onto the podium to keep steady." On behalf of Wayne Manor, I'd like to say … from the bottom of my heart … that this party is just swell. It's like, totally, a great party. Lots of sugar daddies and gold-diggers in this crowd, I'm sure."

"Bruce, that's enough," Lex said firmly.

Bruce waved him off and returned to the podium. "Many of you claim to be friends of my father and mother, but I know many of you were the first to devour those tabloid tales about my parents when they were killed. Please, pat yourselves on the back for being the cream of Gotham's elite. Drinks are on me." Bruce then lost his footing and slumped behind the platform, as dozens of camera bulbs flashed. The fundraiser had become a public relations disaster. Bruce's riotous late night escapades in Gotham City's salons and night clubs – accompanied by numerous starlets and supermodels – had become weekly headline fodder for the city's notorious gossip rags.

The snooty middle-aged couple beside Clark shook their heads. "He's a disgrace to the Wayne name," the fur-draped woman said. "He's no Thomas Wayne," huffed another bejewelled woman. Clark angrily brushed past them. He thought he heard Chloe calling out to him, but he was only interested in getting out of this party. Outside the museum, he undid his bow tie and shoved it into a side pocket. He frowned as Lex, Bruce and their entourage stumbled towards the valet parking. Lex and his curator friend were already getting frisky when they stepped into the LuthorCorp. limo. It appeared that Bruce and the dethroned beauty queen were also in an amorous mood.

An imposing figure, with copper hair and a thick moustache, sighed beside him. "It's a shame, really," he said. The man quietly cleaned the lens of his glasses with a handkerchief.

"He's taking Alfred's death pretty hard," Clark said. He saw the man shake his head again. "I know Bruce," he continued defensively. "What you saw in there - that isn't him."

"You know Bruce? Then we have something in common, son," the burly man replied. "I was familiar with the Wayne family back in those days – before the dark times. Before the mob, the corrupt cops and political cronies dragged Gotham City into the gutter. The old city could have been something to be proud of – if Thomas …" His voice trailed off. "I was just a cop walking my beat when I got the call. Bruce was kneeling beside his parents' bodies. I was there … when they died …" The man turned away, as he relived the tragedy of that terrible, infamous night.

"I'm Clark Kent," Clark said as he extended his hand to the stranger. "And you are …?"

"James Gordon," the man answered, shaking Clark's hand. "Most people call me Jim. I'm a lieutenant in the homicide squad of GCPD. I'm a good cop, at least I try to be. It might be hard for you to believe, but there are still honest folks here in Gotham. Someone's got to keep this town safe for those of us who aren't in Tony Zucco or Councillor Hill's monied pockets. And now Lex Luthor's got his tentacles around Bruce, God help us all …" The cop's pager went off.

"It's my captain," Gordon said. "Clark Kent, eh? I saw your father's speech here during his campaign for Senate. He seemed like a good man. A decent man, like Thomas Wayne."

"He would have been proud to be compared to Bruce's father," Clark said. "And yes, I believe you're right, Lieutenant Gordon." The cop was already descending the museum's front stairs.

"What was that?" Gordon called out.

"That there are still honest people in Gotham City," Clark said.

Around the corner, Bruce held Ashley the beauty queen by her waist and approached a metallic silver Escalade SUV. When the door opened, the driver waved a $20 bill at Ashley and pointed at the yellow Gotham Taxi cab behind them.

"That's your ride home there, princess," the driver said abruptly, with the rim of his chauffeur's cap shadowing his face. "I suggest that you take it and take a hike. The party's over."

Bruce dropped his drunken act immediately. "Sorry, Ashley, it wouldn't have worked between us." He gave the girl a peck on her cheek and briskly stepped into the Escalade, which zoomed away.

"But Brucie …" Ashley sighed, but it was no use. She had become yet another broken heart in Bruce Wayne's long string of brief relationships.

"Nice hat, Ollie," Bruce said, once the Escalade ventured into the downtown traffic.

Oliver Queen tossed the chauffeur's cap onto the seat beside him. "You think they'll buy that flaky, Gotham playboy socialite routine back there? That's a high-risk tactic. Not sure I would've played my cards that way."

"I expect that they will lap it up," Bruce replied. "Those stuck-up, monied hens and roosters have had a poor opinion of me since I was a child. I can't disappoint them, right?" Bruce tapped away on his laptop computer, launching a window displaying a digital map of suspected Checkmate installations around the globe.

"And have you told Clark about Alfred?" Oliver asked. An awkward pause hung over them for a minute that seemed more like a hour. "Well?"

"Clark claims that he no longer has faith in Lex," Bruce stated. Clark and Lex were enemies, but Bruce clung to the faint hope that Clark was right about Lex's 'goodness'. "I can't tell if Clark is being honest with me – or hiding something." Oliver said nothing, which only fuelled Bruce's suspicions about Clark Kent, his friendship with Lex and the peculiar incidents in Lowell County since 2002.

"Come on, Bruce," Oliver said. "Alfred was always close to the Kents. Lois and Lana are fond of him, and Chloe adores the guy. They have a right to know that he's alive."

"I only found out last week, remember?" Bruce said, glaring at Oliver from the rear view mirror.

"Right," Oliver said. "The details surrounding Alfred's 'resurrection' are still fuzzy. Something about false identities, safe houses in Switzerland, etc. etc. All under your nose. You still holding a grudge against Alfred for all that?"

"I refused to speak to him for three days," Bruce confirmed quietly.

"Ooh, three days," Oliver snickered sarcastically. "I was sure you were going to hold out for five days, maybe a whole week. Good thing I didn't have any money riding on it."

Bruce's ice-cold demeanour evaporated, the Wayne smile had lit up and he chuckled. "You can be quite the jerk, Ollie Queen. I'll tell Clark and others about Alfred – at the appropriate time. How could I stay mad at Alfred? He's all I've got."

The SUV soon approached the hill on which stately Wayne Manor stood. Bruce regarded its imposing granite walls, Gothic spires and haunting gargoyles as strangely comforting. This house always represented the best that Gotham City could become. He intended to fight for that hope, whatever the cost. _And I always will_, Bruce thought.

"_Operation: Concord_ is online. Our assets are now in play." Ollie said. "I'll have an update tomorrow at 0900 hours, London Time. I'm glad you and the butler finally showed up to the party."

"Very funny, Ollie," Bruce scoffed. "My Monopoly money is providing your party favours: shell companies, discreet offshore accounts, hardware, transportation and no questions asked. Just don't max out my credit cards while you're at it."

* * *

_Part II to follow ..._


	2. Part 2

[NOTE: Part 2 begins approximately one month before the events surrounding Grant Gabriel in the S7 episode _Persona_.]

_"The Triumvirate"_

Lex opened the stopper of the crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of scotch. It was his first drink of the night, but he expected that it wouldn't be the last one. His marriage to Lana Lang was over, the divorce papers were signed, the settlement paid. In spite of how poorly Clark had treated her over the past six years – with his lies, deception and neglect of Lana's true needs – she had made her choice.

She was now living on the Kent farm. _And sleeping in Clark's bed_, Lex scowled.

"God damn it!" Lex pounded the counter of the minibar, spilling some of his drink onto the floor. He quickly grabbed a cloth and wiped the floor. At least there were no carpets to stain, he mused.

The door to the library opened slightly. "Something the matter, Mr. Luthor," a voice said from the hallway.

"What is it?" Lex demanded.

"Come on, Lex," said the voice. "Is that how you greet someone of Luthor blood, your own brother?" When the door opened, Grant Gabriel entered the room and headed for the minibar.

"I didn't mean to snap at you, Julian," Lex said. "Please come in, this is your home. You may be dead in the eyes of my father, but you are a Luthor ... and my brother. So, what's your poison: scotch on the rocks, rum and coke, or a beer?"

Grant poured a glass of ginger ale. "Not tonight, Lex. I'll be burning the midnight oil at the Planet. Our new financial editor is finishing up our feature article on Bruce Wayne's proposal for a bullet train linking Gotham City to Metropolis. Can you imagine it – we could be having lobster on Gotham Harbour within two hours if the plan is a go!"

"I wish I could share your optimism," Lex said. He grimaced as he drained the last drops of his scotch. "Bruce has leverage with Gotham City's politicians. I'll have to call in every favour I've made downtown over the past few years to get this project green-lighted in Metropolis."

"It'll happen," Grant nodded confidently. "That financial editor I told you about? I poached Troy Tyler from the _Star City Record_ last month. The guy's on the fast track to a Pulitzer. He has a degree from Columbia U., by-lines up to his ears … and he's beholden to no one. Not to Oliver Queen, not even to Bruce Wayne."

"Good," Lex said. "Now that you're editor of the Planet, we can employ Mr. Tyler as our own advocate in the media. Lord knows both Ollie and Bruce have their own hacks in the press, writing fluff pieces about their corporate successes."

Grant wandered along the library shelves, lingering in the 'F' aisle. Lex had rare editions of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novels, some dating back to the 1920's. "I suppose I should start with _This Side of Paradise_ and work my way up to _The Last Tycoon_, just so I can be better prepared for the trials of newfound wealth and privilege."

Lex smiled. He had groomed Julian well. He was a genetic clone, but he would be a Luthor. He would become the family that Lionel Luthor could never be. Julian's curiosity about his father and deceased mother was becoming a concern, but Lex hoped that he could postpone Julian's formal entry into the bitter family feud until the moment was right. He observed his brother, who gleefully thumbed a leather-bound edition of _The Great Gatsby_. Julian was an innocent; the world was full of dangers. As the older brother, Lex knew that it was his job to guide his sibling. His failed marriage had caused him to doubt his own judgment. Could he protect his baby brother?

The beeping of the speaker phone interrupted Lex's thoughts.

"Mr. Luthor," the security guard announced. "You have a visitor in the foyer. He says he knows you."

"Clark Kent?" Grant wondered.

"No, it's not him," Lex said. "Clark never bothered with simple courtesies like signing the guest logbook. He would have already barged in here unannounced, with accusations flying." He impersonated Clark's smug swagger. "'_What evil scheme are you cooking up this time, Lex? I demand to know the truth_!' I hate his self-righteousness."

Grant grinned politely, but he couldn't comprehend the intensity of Lex's rivalry with Clark. Lois had spoken well of Senator Martha Kent's only son. Lex was once Clark's best friend, but that trust was now broken. Julian Luthor vowed to stand by his elder brother. Clark would be his enemy now, if that was Lex's wish.

A tall man in a silver Italian-made suit and leather overcoat flung open the library doors. "So, the family's all here tonight!"

"Lucas," Lex nodded to his half-brother, a product of one of Lionel's past extramarital flings. Lucas marched towards the minibar and made himself a gin and tonic. He gulped it within seconds. "I needed that," he said, wiping his mouth in satisfaction. "I hit a snag on the U.S.-Mexico border, but the passport checked out. Don't worry – I used a secure alias. We're not compromised." He had anticipated Lex's concern.

Lucas Luthor had gone into hiding for many years and was presumed dead. Lex knew better. He had provided Lionel's prodigal son with a dozen false identities, access to secret Luthor bank accounts in Geneva and safe houses in Australia, Dubai, Costa Rica and the Czech Republic. Lucas had become fluent in Spanish and Arabic and had some competency in French, Czech and German. The language skills were a necessity due to his job as chair of several Luthor-affiliated offshore private equity firms. He had spent his exile amassing wealth on behalf of the Luthor name: they would now reap what they had sown.

"The Emir sends his regards, boys," Lucas said. He held out a hand to Julian. "How's it going, bro?"

"I'm doing well, Lucas," Grant said. "I see you got yourself out of Ukraine in one piece." He still didn't know what to make of this reckless Luthor, his half-brother. Lex had told Lucas that Julian also lived under false identities and he felt that it was best to keep Julian's origins a secret.

Lucas made another gin and tonic for himself. "Three Luthor sons, all in the same room," he observed. "I got a coded memo in Zurich informing me to get my butt to Smallville within a day. I was in the middle of finalizing Luthor Fund IX. What news could possibly be worth stalling a ten-billion dollar deal?"

Lex walked towards an antique globe on the counter and spun it. "Bruce Wayne is one of my oldest friends. I've known him since the murder of his parents in Crime Alley."

Lucas stifled a yawn. "Oh, here we go again. Brace yourself, Julian. Is this going to be another of your 'bound by honour, cursed by tragedy' speeches: the epic Wayne – Luthor rivalry? You say Bruce is your friend … but you're always griping about how Bruce always gets the glory."

Lex's face revealed nothing. "He is my friend," he replied, "but he is also the chairman of one of the largest trans-national corporations on earth. Kings and prime ministers are on his speed dial. If LuthorCorp. is to be a true player in the world, we have to recognize that Wayne Enterprises is our biggest opponent. I'm sure you both know your Sun-Tzu: 'If fighting is sure to result in victory, then you must fight.'"

"Sun-Tzu's all fine and dandy, Lex," Lucas said, "but Julian and I have day jobs and the world thinks we're dead. Neither of us can risk showing up on the grid – unless you're absolutely certain that the time to move is now."

"That time is now, gentlemen," Lex said. He gazed idly at the Luthor family crest emblazoned on the rear stained-glass window. "Julian, initiate Daily Planet Limited's international acquisitions strategy, beginning at midnight. I want to hit the ground running when the Asian markets open in the morning."

"I'll have a bid on major media properties from Hong Kong to Tokyo by the end of business tomorrow," Grant said, as he furiously tapped notes into his BlackBerry.

"Lucas, get in touch with my contact in the Chinese government," Lex added. "China is the next superpower, nothing will change that. LuthorCorp. will have a formidable presence there."

Lucas whistled softly at the ambitious plan. "So this is it, then? You think your Gotham tycoon buddy's not going to play nice?"

Lex bristled at Lucas' blunt assessment. "Make no mistake: Wayne Enterprises is a sleeping lion. We must be vigilant or LuthorCorp. will become another morsel on Bruce Wayne's corporate menu." He placed both of his hands on Lucas' shoulders. "Luthor Fund IX will provide us with the arsenal we'll need – if I can't convince Bruce to stand with us. Your work is critical to our success."

"But what about Oliver Queen?" Grant blurted. "If he sides with Mr. Wayne …"

Lex cut him off. "I will deal with Oliver, in my own way. He won't be a factor." Oliver Queen was another friend who had failed him. Both Lucas and Julian were aware of acts of sabotage against LuthorCorp. installations, but Lex chose to conceal the details of LuthorCorp.'s less-than-legitimate research projects. In their eyes, Oliver was a reckless adventurer: an armchair environmental terrorist who dabbled in corporate espionage. They believed that Bruce Wayne was an old-money New England socialite who cavorted with supermodels, while experienced businessmen like Lucius Fox ran his empire for him. Lex was content to encourage their perception of his rivals.

"Half of Asia's media outlets will be under our control by the end of the month", Lex said, "and the editorials from Shanghai to Manila will get their stamp of approval from Metropolis – not from Gotham City." He prepared two glasses of red wine and handed one to Lucas. He poured another glass of ginger ale for Julian. "I think we've all had enough of idle speculation for one night."

Grant studied the wine bottle's label. "1989, eh," he said, "A good year." Lucas slurped the wine casually, causing Grant to roll his eyes. Lucas was the prodigal Luthor and he relished his role as the family's rebel.

Lex raised his glass. They had toasted themselves months earlier, when Lex first announced his intention to thwart Wayne Enterprises' insatiable thirst for global control in virtually every market sector.

"My brothers, to our success," Lex said.

"By any means necessary," Lucas replied, raising his glass. He was untainted by the scandals that rocked Smallville during his long exile and he was confident that he could overcome any challenge.

"To whatever end it may lead us," Grant said, concluding the toast. He drank from his glass hesitantly. An icy shiver rattled down his spine, but pride didn't cause it. Was it nervousness, he thought. Or fear?

"To the Luthors," they said in unison as they clinked their glasses together. Lex smiled at what he had just set in motion. If he could convince Bruce to divest himself of at least half of Wayne Enterprises' public assets in a merger with LuthorCorp., Bruce would still be rich by any standard. Gotham's favourite son could still be the darling of the paparazzi, flaunting his inherited wealth and privilege.

But the levers that ran the company would no longer be in Gotham City. The real power behind a merged Luthor–Wayne corporate entity would be – must be – LuthorCorp. _No castle can have two lords_, Lex mused. He had concerns that the executives and shareholders of Wayne-controlled companies would reject any proposed merger with a Luthor, regardless of the sound business plan and lucrative return on investment.

If Bruce listened to their advice and declined the alliance, Lex would be prepared to exploit that opportunity too. He could feel his darker instincts urging him to break his friendship with Bruce and launch a hostile takeover immediately.

Lionel had been a bitter rival of Thomas Wayne; he had allowed his personal feelings to spill over into the Luthor-controlled tabloid rags. It took many years (and lawsuits) for Bruce to restore his family's reputation. Lex was determined not to succumb to his father's ugly, street-level tactics. It would be much easier if Bruce entered the merger willingly.

Lex watched quietly as Julian and Lucas joked casually and teased each other like brothers. _If only we could be like this forever_, he lamented.

He glanced at the antique globe on the counter. _I want it all_, Lex grinned as he sipped his wine. _Bruce can share in the glory - or he's merely standing in the way_.

* * *

**NEXT**: I will post any follow-up stories here: Part 3, 4, etc. ... if/when I've written them ;)


	3. Part 3

"_Secrets and Revelations"_

Lana locked the door of the Isis Foundation. After about ten minutes, she heard a sequence of seven quick knocks on the door. When she opened the door, Chloe was there.

"I'm here after closing hours like you asked," Chloe said. In the past few weeks, she had grown accustomed to Lana's clandestine meetings. With the divorce from Lex settled, Lana devoted most of her time to the Isis Foundation: an outreach program for meteor-infected beings. Chloe smiled wryly at the irony that Lex's own money from the divorce settlement funded the organization. She had only recently discovered Lana's investigations into Lex's projects and – reluctantly – agreed to keep that knowledge from Clark.

"I'm sorry about the cloak-and-dagger games," Lana said, "but I figured that you'd appreciate the need for discretion."

"My friendship with Alfred gives me some street cred in that department," Chloe said. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne's loyal butler, had recently rejoined the MI6 and was missing-in-action after a mission against Checkmate. Chloe refused to believe that he had died – Alfred's supposed remains were never identified – and Lana felt that it was her duty as a friend to indulge her hopes (however faint they might be).

"But I guess you didn't call me over to reminisce about past adventures with Wayne and Company," Chloe continued.

"Well," Lana began, "yes and no. I just came across something rather odd." She opened her iMac and launched a closed-circuit camera feed of LuthorCorp. installations throughout Western Europe. She clicked on a red icon, zooming into a camera recording of LuthorCorp. technicians moving a stained glass window.

"LuthorCorp. is dabbling in art smuggling – or theft," Chloe said. In the top right-hand corner of the camera feed, a white van with the logo _Baguettes de Normandie_ waited in a parking lot. On other windows, similar video captures revealed that LuthorCorp. was gathering works of art, sculptures and manuscripts around the world.

"At first, I figured that this was par for the course," Lana said. "I assumed that all those vans and trucks parked nearby were fronts for Lex's shell companies." She typed a few keys and launched a spreadsheet of dozens of company names, all based in Europe.

"But I was wrong." She pointed at the green-highlighted companies. "See here? And here? Baguettes de Normandie, Claudius Wood Finishing, Amsterdam Packaging … the list goes on." Lana clicked another button, launching a corporate organizational chart.

"They're all owned by five multinational private equity firms," Chloe said. "All belonging to Wayne Enterprises' European division!" Chloe thought immediately of Alfred; there was still hope that Wayne Manor's butler was alive. "It seems more than a coincidence that Wayne Enterprises assets are at those locations. The question is: why?"

"I was hoping you could shed some light on that," Lana said. The implied request for help lingered in the air like a morning fog. "You've gained Alfred's confidence over the years. Does any of this make sense to you?"

Chloe hesitated. While she was flattered that Lana was still willing to share with her some details about her investigations into Lex's dealings, she couldn't help but be concerned that this could lead Lana down a risky path. Lex was dangerous – not even Clark's abilities could protect her 24/7 from harm. As powerful as Clark was, even he couldn't control the volatile geopolitical forces that LuthorCorp. or Checkmate's schemes threatened to ignite.

"I'm afraid I know about as much as you do," Chloe said in as neutral a tone as possible. "Bruce Wayne and Lex Luthor have been friends – and rivals – since childhood. A modern Cain and Abel, but with the ways and means to turn their schoolboy feud into a war that would outclass anything Napoleon could muster. All I can say is that Master Bruce has been keeping tabs on his old classmate for years … and Alfred has helped him along the way."

Lana, focused on the laptop screen, merely nodded. "Anything else?"

"I wish I had more," Chloe said. "Your marriage to Lex had the regrettable effect of taking you off Wayne Manor's honoured guests' list – but I think I can say confidently that Bruce has never stopped being your friend. He values you, Lana. He just doesn't realize it at the moment. Chalk it up to a weakness of his gender." Chloe thought of the meteor shower in 1989 that claimed both of Lana's parents. "He lost his parents to a horrible tragedy. You understand more that most people what's he's been going through."

Lana scrolled through a few files and abruptly closed her laptop. Lex's schemes were in-progress across Europe, she thought. Now was the moment to strike at LuthorCorp., before those schemes came to fruition. "I'm going to France," she stated.

Chloe held out her hands in bewilderment. "Uhh – okay? Why France? And why now?" She followed Lana out of her office and into the reception room. Chloe noticed that Lana's hands shook nervously. Several Styrofoam cups of half-filled coffee cluttered the waste basket by the door. Lana muffled a yawn with her hand.

"Burning the midnight oil, Lana?" Chloe asked. "I take it your after-hours work has nothing to do with meteor-infected outcasts."

Lana glanced at the dog-eared manila folder in her tote bag. She picked it up, prepared to leave Chloe in the dark about her plans. Then she paused. _This is exactly what Bruce Wayne does_, Lana thought. _He shuts people out: Lex, Clark … and me_.

She pulled out the folder and opened it on the desk. "Lex is looking for something, I don't know what exactly."

Chloe skimmed through the contents: aerial photos of LuthorCorp. plants, bills of sale, security video snapshots and museum pamphlets. "This photo's from the Imperial War Museum in London," Chloe said, "that one is from the Louvre, another from the Papal Archives in Italy …"

"Lex is looking for something in those museums," Lana said, "and at every location he's being watched. Watched by Wayne Enterprises." She abruptly closed the folder. "Clark cannot know about any of this. He's too close to Bruce. I can't risk it."

"Are you sure it's a wise thing to do … going off to Europe on little more than a few satellite photos and delivery trucks owned by some of Bruce's holding companies?" Chloe said. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt on Lex: it's typical of him to have his minions lurking about in the world's great museums. But I don't get the Gotham connection. Lex and Bruce are friends, though their relationship is strained according to Clark."

Lana wheeled out her mauve travel bag. "The ticket's already booked. I'm taking the red-eye to London. I made sure the airline wasn't owned by a Wayne, Luthor or even a Queen. No need to give them the heads-up."

"And no amount of reasoning or pleading is going to stop you," Chloe concluded. "I'll see what I can unearth in the Daily Planet archives about any new museum acquisitions in Western Europe and cross-reference that with known Luthor activities."

Lana scribbled a number on a notepad. "This number is secure. If you find something that might help …"

"Be careful, Lana," Chloe said.

Lana smiled. "I've survived a marriage to Lex Luthor. If I've learned anything, it's caution."

_-PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC-_

The security guard lay motionless in the foyer of Hyperion Petrochemicals, a LuthorCorp. subsidiary with powerful connections to eastern European energy tycoons.

Lana, dressed in a black bodysuit and turtleneck, reattached the Taser to her utility belt. She had disabled the security cameras. She clipped on a pair of infrared goggles and spotted the web of red motion sensors along the hallway. She checked her watch: 10 seconds.

The electromagnetic disruption device she had planted near Hyperion's underground transformer activated, cutting the power to the entire building. The red web of sensors evaporated. She sprinted quickly down the hallway, just as the emergency generator kicked in. It didn't matter – the emergency lights went on, but LuthorCorp.'s advanced anti-theft security measures would remain disabled. She keyed the stolen code into the digital lock of the IT Infrastructure and slowly turned the doorknob.

_Stolen_, Lana smirked to herself. _Most of my gear was stolen, borrowed, or re-purposed from Luthor-owned technology firms_. Over the past three weeks, there had been a rash of unsolved thefts of Luthor tech across Europe: Berlin, London and Paris. Some technology was already in the arsenal of NATO allies, while others were cutting-edge and experimental (read: untested in the field and likely illegal under international treaties).

"Lex should thank me for saving him time on R and D," Lana grinned. In the hazy red glow of the overhead emergency lights, she saw a room full of sleek black hard drive towers, each one at least six feet in height. In the centre of the room, a lone computer terminal stood idle.

She typed another set of codes into the terminal and found what she was looking for. Lex had cultivated relationships with many foreign ministers, especially those from countries that were once part of the Soviet bloc. They were untapped markets waiting for the long-promised freedoms of capitalism. His friendships with the diplomats of those countries were what Lana found intriguing. Many of them were little more than spies with diplomatic titles: embassy science officers, trade attaches, etc. LuthorCorp. took special interest in those who also had relations with executives in WayneTech.'s European divisions.

Lana smiled. With the encrypted wireless download completed, she had the diplomatic identities of every Luthor contact from Berlin to the Caucasus. Lex thought he could bury this information deep within the archives of one of his Czech subsidiaries; Lana meant to prove him wrong.

In minutes, she had slipped down a maintenance shaft, through storm drains and re-emerged half an hour later near the Observation Tower on Petrin Hill in the city's Lesser Town. Built in 1891 for the Jubilee Exhibition, the tower was a small replica of Paris' Eiffel Tower. Lana donned a brown overcoat and eventually made her way to Wenceslas Square in New Town: popular with tourists for its abundance of shops, casinos, bars and hotels. The prominent equestrian statue of Saint Wenceslas, the patron of the Czech people, welcomed her.

But the sightseeing would have to wait. A crimson-cloaked doorman held the door for her as she stepped into the Prague Hilton. She waited in the lobby for several minutes, her eyes fixated on the main doors. When she was certain that no one was following her, she entered the women's restroom. When she exited, she had changed into a brand-name fleece hoodie and jeans – she was now an American tourist, complete with one of those impossible-to-fold sightseeing maps.

She stopped at a nearby Starbucks and approached the counter where a waif-like blond barista waited for her order. "I'll have a short café latte," Lana said, casually glancing at the patrons in case anyone was paying her too much attention. She picked up her order and chose a window seat. She people-watched for a few minutes: it was assortment of after-work accountants from the Deloitte and Touche office in their matching charcoal grey suits, black-clad goth/punks with oversized headphones listening to German electronica, chatty students and the foreign tourists with handfuls of shopping bags.

Lana needed to get to Prague Ruzyne Airport to catch her 10:20 flight to Geneva. Always fearful of Luthor agents tailing her, she had to get to her safe house undetected. She didn't want to fly through Zurich – that was where Lex's lawyers had sparred with her lawyers over the eventual divorce settlement. (She lost the Greek villa on Ithaca, but she kept the vintage 1962 Jaguar E-Type. It was still in Switzerland.)

Lana managed to flag a cab, despite the crush of Prague's shoppers and bar-hoppers.

"_Vezmi mě na letiště,"_ Lana said in Czech. _To the airport. At least I learned some useful things from Lex._ The cab driver said nothing, nodded to her and weaved through the rush hour traffic. Through the window, she caught a brief glimpse of the distinctive yellow walls and Art Nouveau features of the Hotel Europa before they joined the stream of commuters leaving the city.

Without warning, smoke began to waft from beneath the cab's front seats. Lana began to feel woozy.

"Hey!" Lana said. She coughed, banging the palm of her hand against the front seat Plexiglas barrier. "Stop the cab!" The driver ignored her. She tried to use her elbows to smash the passenger-side window, but her strength was fading.

The sleeping gas was taking effect. She strained her eyes to make note of some landmark in the distance: a building, a church, a barn. Anything. It was useless. As she fought to remain conscious, she noticed that the middle-aged driver had youthful-looking hands. His eyes were familiar …

"W-who … are you?" Lana demanded.

At a red light, the driver turned around. "Someone who once trusted you."

"Bruce?" Lana could barely keep her head up, the sleep consuming her.

* * *

**To be continued in Part 4.**


	4. Part 4

"_Lies and Consequences"_

_-BERN, SWITZERLAND-_

When Lana awoke, she was in a sparsely-decorated brick townhouse. Through the window, she could see the spires of the Historical Museum above the other houses.

"I'm … I'm in Switzerland?" Lana mumbled, still groggy from the sleeping gas. She had been in this city once before with Lex, who had insisted that they also visit the Einstein Museum. Albert Einstein had discovered the Relativity Theory while living in this city.

"The city of Bern to be more precise," a voice said. The accent was English. "We arrived on the private jet early this morning. You missed breakfast, Miss Lang. It's half-past noon." Bruce's long-time butler sat behind a 1950's-era wooden office desk. He was the only Wayne employee allowed to use a firearm; he was an excellent shot.

"So you're alive after all, Alfred," Lana said. "Where am I? One of your MI6 safe houses?" The shock of his presence jolted her adrenaline. _I need to get out of here_, she thought.

"No," said another voice – deep and rumbling – from the shadows behind her. "You're in one of mine."

Lana stretched out an arm and quickly seized a silver letter opener from the coffee table. Before she could spin around to confront her hidden foe, a hand gripped her wrist and twisted it firmly. Lana yelped, dropped the letter opener and collapsed on the couch.

"Never attack an opponent who can anticipate your next move," the voice said. Bruce Wayne, wearing a black cable-knit sweater and designer jeans, stepped out of the shadows. "Be thankful it was me. Alfred might have shot you."

Lana, clutching her sore wrist, looked across to where the butler was sitting. Alfred's personal weapon, a Walther P99, sat ominously on the desk.

"Does this mean you and Lex are tied to the hip now?" Lana said, glowering at them. "'Bound by honour, cursed by tragedy' and all that high society crap?"

"No to both questions," Bruce said. "Well, a qualified no to question number two. Lex still thinks I subscribe to the high society crap."

"It seems we should be the one asking you questions, Miss Lang," Alfred added. He opened his laptop. "You've been busy investigating your ex-husband's extra-curricular activities on the continent." A silver tray containing muffins, scones, croissants and a tea set was already on the coffee table. "It's herbal tea. It should soothe your nerves. We didn't quite get the sleeping gas dosage correct in your case. My apologies."

"Tea and an interrogation in Switzerland," Lana said, sipping the warm liquid from the tea cup. When she wolfed down a scone, she glared at Alfred, recalling the breaking news months ago about his alleged death. "Clark thinks you're dead! It's been eating away at him since your plane crash in Poland!"

"I plan to tell all of my Smallville friends in good time," Alfred said. "The ruse was a ... necessary evil." He didn't want to deceive them, but he knew that Checkmate agents were already tracking him. He had to throw them off the scent.

"And Chloe …" Lana began. Chloe was one of Alfred's closest friends, and they had cooperated on more than one occasion to thwart the nefarious plots that infected Smallville and Metropolis. Chloe had not taken the news of Alfred's death well: she never accepted the coroner's report that claimed his body had been burnt beyond recognition. She refused to attend his military funeral in England.

Alfred sighed. "I never meant to hurt her."

Bruce folded his arms defensively and faced Lana. "You shouldn't dwell on Alfred's deception when you, Clark, Chloe, the Kents and probably all of Lowell County have deceived us for years."

Lana calmly put down her tea cup. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I don't follow?"

Bruce paced around the room, each harsh step on the wooden floor echoing around them. "I know everything," he said at last.

"I don't understand," Lana said. She hoped that they didn't notice the hint of doubt in her voice.

Lana's thoughts spun in a thousand directions. What exactly did Bruce Wayne know? Bruce held a master's degree in criminology and had the money, technical resources and political access to uncover any secret he wished. It was the sort of global influence Lex Luthor could only dream of possessing. Alfred Pennyworth – Bruce's mild-mannered butler – had an extensive career in both the British Army and the UK's foreign intelligence service, with his own international contacts and resources. With their combined talents, could they discover Clark's secret on their own?

Lana knew the answer.

"Clark and Lex might have indulged you over the years with Secrets and Lies charades," Bruce said, "but I won't mince words. Where do I begin: the meteor shower in 1989, the Kawatche caves, Summerholt, Lex's miraculous rescue on Loeb Bridge, the green meteor rocks, Project Ares? Tell me when I should stop."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Lana said, unconvincingly. Only a moment ago, the tray of pastries looked so appetizing. She wasn't hungry now.

"People have 'tells'," Bruce said. "Involuntarily signals that people give off when they are lying. It could be an inflection in their voice. A hand gesture, eye movements or facial expressions. I could claim that I learned about all of this in college. But, I'd have to give Alfred's field experience some credit for part of my knowledge. You're hiding something. We'll start over, shall we?"

Alfred took the laptop from the desk and sat beside Lana. "We don't need you to confirm what we already know as fact. Your encryption was good; WayneTech's is better. If you don't wish to betray Clark's confidence, we can understand that. Don't take us for fools, however. It's insulting. To me, in particular."

"Fair enough," Lana said. "I'm not your prisoner then?"

"The Prague incident was a precaution", Bruce said, without regret. He peered occasionally through the curtains at oncoming traffic and the lunch-hour pedestrians. "That pleasant doorman at the Prague Hilton? He was a Checkmate operative and you were being tailed. You can go at any time. At your own risk, of course. Just one more question: why your interest in my European technological projects and political connections?"

"Let's just say Lex has been taking an unnatural interest in some of Wayne Enterprises' more cutting-edge scientific breakthroughs," Lana said.

"I know that part," Bruce said. "I've been shadowing his nocturnal corporate activities for months. He's been buying shares in a variety of high-tech companies involved in lucrative military-defense contracts. He's already made a bid for my media properties in Asia, from Hong Kong to Tokyo. To what end, I don't know yet. What I don't get is the museum and gallery smash-and-grabs he's been involved in."

"So you _were_ tracking him across Europe," Lana said, intrigued. "The museum thefts have something to do with an elite group or fraternity that Lionel Luthor and the Teagues were a part of. A scientific club."

Bruce whispered something into Alfred's ear. _Clark's superior hearing would be useful right about now_, Lana thought.

"Lex is looking for clues," Alfred said. "He's gathered a plethora of obscure items: medieval French manuscripts, Freemason logbooks from the American Revolution, artifacts from Napoleon's Egyptian expedition, looted World War II-era treasure from Italy and everything in between."

"If you know anything that might enlighten us further," Bruce said, "we're all ears."

"You've already hacked into my laptop, so you know what I know," Lana said.

"It has something to do with Clark," Bruce said. It was both a question and a statement. He wasn't sure – and Lana sensed it.

"I don't know if that's the case," Lana said. They know everything, she feared. Or just enough to bring the full weight of Wayne Enterprises into the investigation. She gathered that Bruce was not as friendly to Lex as it appeared on television or in the society tabloid rags from New York and London. His help would be invaluable, but could she trust him?

_I need to talk to Clark first._

"If there are no further questions," Lana said. "I'll be on my way." She gathered her things and began to leave.

"There are two ways you can leave," Bruce said. "With our help – or without. Our way? We keep you off the grid, at least until you return to the continental U.S."

"Your way," Alfred added, "would be that first-class flight out of Geneva you had booked for tonight, when your Checkmate and Luthor tails would catch up with you." The pager on Alfred's hip began to vibrate and chirp. "Excuse me, Miss Lang."

Alfred dialed his cell phone. "Falconer here. Yes. Bern? There are complications. Not your concern! It bloody well is your concern if – but – yes, I know the stakes. Now? I understand."

"Alfred, what's up?" Bruce said. He sensed that the news was not good – the pager was from Alfred's MI6 minders.

"This location is compromised," Alfred said. "Last chance, Miss Lang." He opened up a brown envelope with half a dozen high-quality forged passports: each with Lana's photo. "Take your pick: French national, British, Costa Rican, or Canadian. The cover stories are attached. You can arrive in New York – undetected – by breakfast tomorrow. If you catch your original flight in Geneva, it's a death sentence."

Lana picked up the Canadian passport. "Megan P. Brauer, fine arts student from Toronto on a semester exchange program in Paris. I guess I have no choice, do I?" Bruce quickly gathered her luggage.

"Master Bruce, I'll catch up with you at Wayne Enterprises' Amsterdam offices next week," Alfred said. "I still have work to do." Bruce's face became ashen.

Lana zipped up her jacket. "Work?" Alfred had mentioned that people were tailing her in Prague. Checkmate agents or Luthor thugs – it didn't matter. Borders meant nothing to them. They wanted her secrets and they wanted her dead.

"Let's go, Lana," Bruce said, as he started the ignition of the silver Audi R8 Coupe. Lana hesitated as the realization of Alfred's work dawned on her.

"Alfred!" Lana called out. She dropped her purse, ran and hugged him.

"I have to go, Miss Lang," Alfred said. "Silly spy stuff and all that." He smiled and put on a brave face, more for her sake.

"We thought you had been killed!" Lana said. "Clark went to your funeral in England! He was beside himself in grief." _Clark deserves an explanation_, she thought. _Despite his lies._

"Tell Master Clark –" Alfred began. He had a mission to do – it was no time for remorse. He would have none, when the time came. "And tell Chloe that I'm sorry. There are consequences for everything, you understand? Now, go! _Auf wiedersehen_."

"Now," Bruce said, the Audi's engine already growling. It was a command. Lana picked up her purse and jumped into the Audi. Bruce shifted into second gear and roared out of the driveway. They could see Alfred briefly in the rearview mirror, and then he was gone.

Bruce didn't speak for almost half an hour, not until they were within sight of Bern Airport.

Lana turned to Bruce. "I'm sorry if my actions have harmed our friendship."

"I'm sorry that it has," Bruce said. "I trusted you, trusted Chloe. And Clark – he saved Alfred and me a few times. I've helped him out of a few jams, too. And for that I'm left in the dark? About everything!"

"You've not been upfront with us, either," Lana retorted. "Your sabbaticals to Japan, Brazil, etc. No contact for weeks or months! No explanations."

"That's different," Bruce said. "And it's not your problem."

"Not my problem?" Lana said. "It is, if you consider yourself one Clark Kent's best friends." _And one of mine._

Bruce took a deep breath. "You're right." The departures terminal was upon them, abruptly ending the conversation. He pulled over and retrieved Lana's luggage from the trunk.

He handed Lana the tickets for Swiss International-Flight 586. "Don't forget: you're Megan, the art student from Toronto. At least until JFK."

"And Lana," he continued, "that time you were married to Lex? I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you." He was overseas and he had sent his regrets one month before the wedding.

Lana thought of her time as a Luthor and how disastrous the marriage had become. Lex had hit her before she left him for good. "Perhaps if you had been around, Bruce, I might not have been caught up in that mess."

She thought of happier times: visiting Gotham City and sightseeing with her friends; Bruce's less-frequent visits to Smallville and Metropolis. They had both lost parents, tragically, at an early age and it had become the common ground that had bound their friendship. But he had grown distant over the years. So had she. Secrets had carved that chasm between them.

She would hate Lex for that, too.

She leaned up and gave Bruce a gentle peck on the cheek. She waved to Bruce Wayne, the so-called Prince of Gotham City, possibly for the last time. There was no real warmth in their goodbye now; the friendship had been wounded.

Time would heal it, she hoped.

_-JFK __Airport, New York City__-_

The middle-aged customs officer glanced at the passport. "Brauer, Megan. Canadian national. Destination?"

"Stopover in the Big Apple. I'm catching a connecting flight on Sunday to Pearson International in Toronto." Lana said.

"Home of the Leafs," the officer said unenthusiastically. "My sympathies." The Maple Leafs hadn't won a Stanley Cup in 40 years. He waved her through and Lana was on American soil again.

She waited in the arrivals lounge to recover from the trans-Atlantic flight. A stack of wrinkled newspapers sat on the table beside her. One of them was the Friday edition of the _London Morning Review_, a respected high-brow newspaper that both Lex and Bruce had been trying to acquire for nearly two years. They valued its reputation, but they both wanted its vast network of internet content providers. LuthorCorp. finally outbid Wayne Enterprises last year, just before her now-notorious engagement dinner. Lex had joked that the _Review _was one of his wedding presents for her.

She caught her breath when she read the headline:

'TWO AMERICANS SLAIN IN SWITZERLAND: Police suspect professional hit'

Lana tore open the paper to the article:

"_Bern police found two bodies behind a grove of trees, near the Einstein Museum in Bern early Saturday morning. Their names have been withheld until next-of-kin are notified._

_ U.S. embassy officials confirmed that the Americans were trade officials attached to the American consulate in Geneva. They have refused to comment on speculation reported in the London press that they were former CIA agents."_

Lana shuffled through the stack of papers. One was _Le Monde_ from Paris, dated Thursday. Her French was rusty but one of the articles mentioned the unsolved murder of a hotel doorman in Prague. The local police chalked it up to a drug-related killing – but the doorman and the agents in Bern were shot in the back.

They were not random slayings.

Lana remembered what Alfred had said before she left: "There are consequences for everything." She had followed her leads, with no concern for the aftermath. She wanted to bring Lex down, at any price.

Bruce and Alfred deceived them, but they were doing that to protect them. Is that any different from what I'm doing to protect Clark, she thought. From what Chloe was doing? Alfred despised much of the shadowy work he had done for MI6: the renditions, the betrayals, the extra-judicial killings. He had left the spook world many years ago, but the threat of Checkmate and the rising clout of Lex Luthor had forced him to take up the old trade again. He had defied Bruce's wishes by doing so.

Consequences. He returned to the cold, she thought. To protect us – even though it's tearing his conscience apart. That's why Bruce had paled when Alfred got the call from the M!6 handlers in Bern. The recent headlines confirmed it.

_Alfred had killed to protect Clark, Chloe, Lois, Oliver, Martha Kent, all of us._

Lana stood at the panoramic window, looking down at the planes on the tarmac. Planes were going to every corner of the world, but all she wanted to do was go to Smallville. It was home; it was safe, in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

Her cell phone had one text message from Chloe: "Something u might like from DP. Call me" Lana believed that the plan was simple: to raid Lex's plants, steal information and technology from him and hopefully succeed in stalling his myriad of plots against Clark. She remembered seeing Alfred's feeble goodbye wave in the rearview mirror of the Audi. He knew what was to follow.

What he was about to do.

_This week, Alfred killed for me. _She wept quietly.

A blonde American Airlines flight attendant in an immaculate navy blue jacket and skirt approached her. "Are you alright, miss?" She offered Lana a tissue.

"I'm fine," Lana sniffed. "It's just that I had a falling-out with some close friends."

"If they're really your friends," the flight attendant said, "you'll find a way through it."

Lana smiled a thank you to the flight attendant as she departed. The phone buzzed again.

"Lana? It's Chloe. I've been trying to reach you for days! I've barely gotten a tweet from you since Berlin!"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Lana said. "I've been saying that a lot lately." A businessman scooped up the assorted newspapers from the table and left for his flight. Lana shuddered – she knew more about the truth behind their headlines than she dared to believe.

Chloe heard the wavering in Lana's voice. "Something's happened," she stated. "Don't even try to deny it, I know you too well. In Budapest? Prague? Was it Checkmate?"

"It's taken care of," Lana said. Her stomach churned in disgust: she was using the same clinical language that spies used to explain away their bloody work, to sanitize it. There would be explanations, but that could wait. The thought of Bruce Wayne's inevitable heart-to-heart with Clark made her feel queasy. It was uncharted territory – something they always knew was a possibility.

That fear was now a reality and it terrified her. _Be careful, Clark._ Her voice became softer. "I'm coming home."

Chloe did know her well. "You're beginning to worry me, Lana. What is it that you're not telling me?"

"It's Alfred. He's alive." The silence on the other line was suffocating. Chloe clung to any sign that Alfred might have survived the Belarus mission, long after everyone else had accepted his death. Confirmation of that belief threatened to release a torrent of suppressed grief.

The phone signal cut out. Lana collected her belongings, checked the departures monitor for the next flight to Metropolis and rushed to the gate with her real passport.

It was her turn to put on a brave face.

_I have to be there for Chloe. I owe her at least that much._

* * *

**Part 5 to follow.**


End file.
